


out of the ash

by stuff_and_nonsense



Series: Widojest Week 2019 [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuff_and_nonsense/pseuds/stuff_and_nonsense
Summary: Widojest Cinderella AU





	out of the ash

**Author's Note:**

> Widojest Week Day 4: Fairytale

In three days, there will be a great ball in Rexxentraum. The long war with Xhorhas is finally over, and the finest people are coming from all over the Empire, even from the Menagerie Coast and Tal Dorei, to celebrate. The graduating class of the Soltryce Academy will be permitted to attend, to make their entrance into society, and Bren will not be among them.

He listens to Astrid and Eodwulf and the other students make their plans, as he scrubs floors and clears dinner plates at the Academy. The ball will be a prime chance to secure a high-level position in the Empire, if they impress the right people. Bren would be plotting with them, sure he was destined for something great, if he hadn’t gone and fucked it all up.

A year ago, he’d journeyed with Astrid and Eodwulf on a rare visit home. He’d been thrilled to visit his parents, who’d given him all that they could despite their poverty. The final night of the visit, he woke in the night to hear them talking of treason, of bringing down the Empire. Astrid and Eodwulf confided the next day that they’d heard the same, but Bren had been silent. He loved his parents too well to see them brought to justice, although he knew he was betraying his teacher and his country by this weakness. 

It hadn’t made any difference. They’d been in a conspiracy with the other traitors in Blumenthal, who’d turned them in upon interrogation, Master Ikithon had told him, and had been executed for it as was appropriate. For his weakness, his failure to uncover the rot in his own home, Bren would be dismissed from his place at the Academy.

Bren had been left distraught. He loved his parents, and he loved the Empire, and he’d failed them both. Ikithon hadn’t abandoned him fully; he’d given him a place as a servant at the Academy. There, he’d made sure Bren was given the lowest and dirtiest jobs, so that he couldn’t forget that he was in disgrace. Bren knew he was lucky not to be executed as well, but it was hard to find much relief in it. He’d sleepwalked through his duties for nearly a year, lost in grief and guilt as he cleaned and bowed and slept in the ashes of the kitchen fireplace, unable to trust himself or imagine anything more.

The preparations for the ball have pulled him a bit out of his stupor. It’s hard to get lost in his mind when everyone around him was frantic, and there is so much to do. It would be held at King Dwendal’s palace, but the Academy was heavily involved in the celebrations. Bren is asked to wait upon the other students more often. He sweeps out their rooms and polishes their shoes, tries to ignore how Eodwulf looked at him with pity and Astrid with contempt. They make no move to speak to him, and he can’t blame them for it, but the longing for what he’d lost grows each day he watches them. He imagines attending the ball together, the three of them in their smart uniforms meeting the finest people from all over the world. The daydream was tinged with guilt, for the parents he’d have betrayed to get there, but part of him still wants it more than anything.

One by one, the foreign guests for the ball are beginning to arrive in Rexxentraum. Bren sees them sometimes, riding past the Academy in their carriages, or being led on tours of the Academy. He’s too unpresentable to serve them directly, but he overhears gossip from the other servants – this one is an ambassador, that one a great mage who Ikithon hated, that one the daughter of a famous courtesan from the Menagerie Coast.

Bren rarely has the chance to leave the Academy, but everyone is so busy with their preparations that he’d been enlisted to go to the market. It’s there, three days before the ball, that he sees Jester for the first time. 

He’s walking back past the Ambassador Hall, where most of the foreign guests were being housed, when his way is blocked by a carriage pulling up to the gates. Bren stops to watch as it’s admitted, looking through the fence around the hall at the visitors disembarking. The first figure who steps out is arresting enough, nearly seven feet tall and horned. A minotaur, Bren thinks – he’d read about them, but never seen one before. But he’s quickly distracted by the second person, who jumps out of the carriage and looks around eagerly. She’s blue-skinned, richly dressed, with bright eyes and curled horns on either side of her head. She beams as she looked around, eyes wide, taking in everything. Bren’s breath catches as he sees her; he can’t look away. She meets his eyes, and waves. He flushes red, and notices suddenly the guard at the gate giving him the stinkeye. Ducking his head, he hurries back to the Academy.

He can’t get her out of his mind the next few days. It’s not hard to find out who she is, listening to the other servants gossip. The Ruby of the Sea’s daughter, secret until now, is the talk of Rexxentraum. She’ll be one of the few unmarried guests present, and of course possesses vast fortune and access to the greats of Nicodranas.

All Bren can think about is the way she’d smiled at him, like no one had in a year. It’s foolishness, of course. She’s surely already forgotten the incident he’s dwelling on, and even if she hasn’t, there’s no way he’s ever going to see her again.

The night of the ball comes, after three days of ceaseless work. He watches the graduating students prepare, idly dreams of going with them. Of standing there restored from his disgrace, but also of the blue-skinned woman, of another chance to see her. It’s absurd, of course. He’s useless, orphaned, expelled, dressed in rags. None of the things he dreams of are meant for him.

After those attending the ball are sent off and the last of the diner dishes cleared, Bren is left alone in the kitchen as the other servants return to their homes. Before sleeping in his place by the hearth, he gathers a few scraps of food and goes out to the kitchen yard, as he does every night. He tosses the scraps out to the stray cats who gather there. There’re always a few who gather, but one, an orange tabby, is his particular favorite. He’ll sit next to Bren and let himself be stroked after he’s eaten, while the others run right off. He looks enough like a cat Bren had had as a child that he’d started to think of him by the same name, Frumpkin.

He looks around to see if his other friend is here too. A few months ago, he’d been woken by the sound of something clanging. He’d scrambled upright to find a terrified goblin crouched on one of the counters, the pots she’d bumped into swinging above her. One thing had led to another, and they’d struck up a tentative friendship, which had slowly become deeper. His meetings with Nott are the one thing he’s properly looked forward to, in the past few months of sleepwalking through his life. She brings him news and occasionally coin; he sneaks her food and teaches her the bits of magic he can still manage without easy access to books or components.  
-  
She can’t always safely make it up here though, and tonight he doesn’t see her around. So he scoops up Frumpkin instead, and whispers to the cat as he scratches his head. “Everyone’s been very busy getting ready for the ball, Frumpkin,” he says. “You’re lucky to be a cat and not have to worry about it. I did see a very pretty girl today though.”

“Mrow,” says Frumpkin, bumping his head into Bren’s hand. 

“That’s right, she’s here for the ball,” says Bren. “I’ll never see her again, but it was still very nice.”

There’s an odd shiver in the air above Frumpkin. Bren carefully lets go of him and backs away, hands moving in the first steps of a spell. Before he can finish, Frumpkin seems to change, spinning upwards in a swirl of light until a human figure in a green cloak stands there instead.

“Would you like to?” the figure asks.

Bren basks away further. “Who are you?”

“I’ve been called by many names,” the figure says. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and I’m fond of people who are kind to cats. If you’d like to go to that ball and meet that girl again, I can help you.”

One of the Fey, perhaps? It doesn’t seem to be a devil. It won’t necessarily harm him, but he has to be cautious. “How is that possible?” he asks. “Magister Ikithon would never allow me to go, and I’ll be thrown out at the door anyway, looking like I do.”

“Well, that’s an easy enough problem to solve. There will be hundreds of people there, and he won’t expect you. And it’s trivial to change your appearance.”

“And what would you want in return?” asks Bren.

“Only companionship,” the Fey says. “Bring me with you wherever you go next. As a cat I think. I enjoy having that form around you.”

Bren thinks about it. He’d been thrown from the Academy for a reason, didn’t deserve the balls and finery. But just one last time, getting to see what he’s lost, and getting to see the girl again, can’t hurt more than he’s already been hurt. And something has to change. If he stays here forever, hiding in the shadows and talking to no one, he’ll go mad. Fey companionship is companionship at least.

“I agree,” he says, and extends a hand to the green-cloaked figure. “Please help me attend the ball tonight.”

The figure laughs at his outstretched hand. “Glad to hear it, but that thing is filthy.” He snaps his fingers, and Bren feels a whispering sensation over his skin. A little ball of dirt and ash floats in the air before his face, before dropping to splatter on the ground.

Bren looks at his hands. They’re immaculate, aside from his permanently burnt-black fingertips, a reminder of his time as a student of fire magic. He rubs at the tattered cuff of his sleeve, which changes as he touches it, becoming deep-blue wool, edged in gold. His whole outfit has changed similarly, cut sharply to his body, clearly more expensive than anything he’s ever worn. It’s beautiful, and it’s nothing like the uniforms Astrid and Eodwulf will be attending in.

“One last touch,” the Fey says, and passes him a pair of gloves. They’re blue with gold trim like his jacket, and made of leather near as soft as skin. He pulls them on, grateful that they’ll hide his blackened fingers. “These will last when the rest is gone. A little memento.”

“How will I get there?” Bren asks. The palace is across the city, and the ball has already started.

“That’s easily arranged.” The cloaked figure snaps his fingers, and one of the cats hanging around the edges of the yard begins to grow. It distorts unsettlingly, and takes the form of a horse, which tries to back into a corner in fear. Bren goes over and scratches behind its ears to calm it. As he does, the bin where they toss food waste begins to shake, and then expands and sprouts wheels, until it becomes a fine carriage.

“And you need someone to drive it,” says the figure. He turns to a far corner of the yard, hidden in shadow. “I see you there, dear.”

A bolt shoots out of the corner past his head, and thunks into the carriage. “What did you do to him?” screeches a familiar voice.

“Nott!” Bren says, hurrying over to her. “It’s ok, it’s ok, he’s helping me.”

“You can come with him if you’d like,” says the cloaked figure. “Keep an eye on him. I can give you what you want too, but only for a night.” He waves a hand, and Nott changes, skin tone shifting and features distorting, until a plump halfling woman stands where there was a goblin a moment before. Nott looks down at herself, feels frantically at her face.

“It won’t last?” she asks.

“I’m afraid not,” the figure says. “All of this will only stay until midnight. Make sure you leave before then, unless you want to be in rags in the middle of the hall.”

Nott hurries to the driver’s seat of the carriage, before Bren can figure out what to say to her. They haven’t been in the habit of asking personal questions, but maybe when they return, she’ll tell him if there’s more to what just happened. But for now, the Fey waves him on, and he climbs into the carriage.

They make their way to the palace, and, surreally, are admitted through the gates. The yard is filled with empty carriages; the other guests have already entered. Bren is led towards the palace by a footman, while Nott whispers via cantrip that she’ll slip in after.

He’s shown into the main hall, which is crowded with the greats of the Empire and its surrounding nations It’s spectacular, the familiar grandeur of the Empire interspersed with the colors of the other guests. He can see it all, because the door is at the top of a flight of stairs, overlooking the great hall below.

The footman is pressing him for a name, and he grabs for a pseudonym. “Caleb Widogast,” he says, pulling the name out of thin air, and declines to give a place of origin. He wants to crawl into himself and die as the man announces him. Thankfully, the ball is in full swing, and he gets a few curious looks but little more notice than that. He forces himself to keep his back straight and his head up as he descends the stairs. A few heads turn in his direction as he does, and he hopes his disguise will hold up.

He finds a place against a wall to scan the room. Ikithon is talking to a tall man in military uniform, Astrid and Eodwulf arrayed beside him. King Dwendal himself sits on a dais, watching the room while a secretary whispers in his ear. A few other familiar faces, passed in the hall of the Academy. And then – there she is.

The girl from yesterday is in the idle of a crowd, but she stands out. Her blue skin is luminous under the chandelier light, and her dress is white, accented with pink along the sleeves and hem, and heavily embroidered with flowers. Her dark blue hair is loose, and there are flowers pinned there too. She’s grinning wickedly at the man besides her as she tells him something Bren is too far away to hear.

The man looks offended and stalks off, but there’s another one to take his place. Bren doesn’t fancy the idea of going the crowd surrounding her, which he sees Astrid and Eodwulf walking over to join now too, but he doesn’t want to look away from her, and doesn’t dare speak to anyone else in the room. As a pretense he approaches one of the tables of food scattered about. From there, he’s close enough to overhear as he pretends to look over the canapés.

She’s telling the group around her about a book she’s recently read. A romance, and apparently a rather racy one; half the people around her look scandalized. He holds back a smile – it won’t do for all these rich people to think he’s laughing at them. He drifts closer, careful to avoid eye contact.

He’s on the outskirts of the circle around her when the music starts up. A man at least three times her age approaches her, hand outstretched. 

“Oh!” she says. “I’m really sorry, but I actually promised someone else I’d dance with them for this one. I just have to go find him.” She takes a few steps forward, looking around frantically. Eodwulf and Astrid both approach, trying to meet her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to see them. Instead, her gaze lands on Bren: “There you are!” she says, to his terror.

He takes her hands and lets her guide him to the center of the floor. Her rejected partner is glaring at them, but Bren tries to ignore it, to focus on what’s somehow happening right now. He’s been trained how to dance, even if he’s had few chances to practice, and he arranges his arms in a closed position, one hand against the surprisingly cool skin of her back. This close, she smells like flowers and cinnamon. He silently prays that the spell that cleaned him also dealt with the body odor he’d no doubt accumulated.

He steps through a waltz; the pattern comes back surprisingly easily. She’s a good partner too, even if she’s a little vigorous on the turns. 

“So….” she says after a minute. “I’m Jester. What’s your name?”

“C-Caleb,” he stammers, grabbing for the alias he’d given earlier. They dance a few more measures. Gods, he should say something else, but he’s tongue-tied.

“Do you want to see something cool?” she asks. Before he can answer, she flicks her fingers against his shoulder. The windows around the hall all crash open. He jumps, and looks around them; the windows crash shut again. The hall is buzzing, everyone trying to figure out what happened. Even Ikithon looks uncharacteristically puzzled. Bren worries that the disturbance will be traced back to them, but can’t help smiling at the befuddled faces around them. Jester grins back at him.

“I have a bit of magic too,” he tells her, despite his better judgment. “Not much I can safely demonstrate in here though.”

“Well, you’ll just have to show me later,” she says, and winks at him.

Bren has surely never been winked at like that before. He doesn’t think his heart could take much of it.

“So you came from the Menagerie Coast?” he asks her, because he has to do something other than stare.

“Yes, from Nicodranas!” she says. “This is my first time out of the city, or even really out of my house much. Everything’s so exciting!”

First time out of her house? He looks more closely at her, tries to see if there’s more than the excitement she claims. He wonders what her life back home was like, if it was a happy one.

Before he can say more, the music ends. The old man she’d turned down before approaches again.

“I really should dance with him, or he’ll be upset with my mama,” Jester says. “I’ll find you for the next one, ok?”

“That would be wonderful,” he says, surprised that she wants to. Then he remembers a bit of magic he can do without setting the room on fire. “Here, this might make it a bit more fun.” He touches her arm and casts Haste.

Her eyes light up and she grins at him, showing tiny fangs, before speeding over to the older man. Bren finds a wall to stand against and watch as she dances, running literal circles around her partner.

The man leaves her alone when they’re finished, looking discomfited and annoyed. Jester wanders, out of breath, over to where Bren is watching.

“That was so fun!” she says. “Where did you learn to do that? Are you a student at the academy?”

This is not a good line of questioning at all. Bren shakes his head. “I don’t know much,” he says. “Just a few things I picked up. Will you tell me about the Nicodranas? I’ve always been curious to see it.”

She raises an eyebrow, but accepts his redirection, chatting about her home in the Menagerie coast. Bren listens happily, until the music changes and she takes his hand again. They dance through that, and then the next dance, and then another waltz, until halfway through Bren looks down and sees the blue of his coatsleeve beginning to fade.

He drops Jester’s hands immediately. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He rushes for the door.

“Wait!” she says. “What happened?” She reaches for him, grabs his hand again. His glove slides off as he pulls away. He’s full-on running now, making for the door as his clothes turn gradually to their normal ragged brown.

The doorman tries to stop him but he slides past, skidding out into the yard. There’s a trash bin lying on its side where his coach had been, and the tail of a cat disappearing around a corner. Nott, back in her goblin form, slips out from a shadow and waves to him. He follows her, and they make their way through the streets of Rexxentraum. 

They take a circuitous route, trying to avoid notice, and by the time they make it back to the Academy, the gates are opening for those who’d attended the ball legitimately to return. He says goodbye to Nott, giving her a quick kiss on the head, and manages to sneak back into the kitchen.

No one’s likely to be in here until tomorrow, so he summons a ball of light, and sits down by the fireplace to catch his breath. One of the gloves he was given is still on his hand. He looks at it for a moment, then slips it into a pocket inside his coat. Then he reaches into the fireplace and scoops up a handful of ash and soot, which he rubs across his face and works into his hair. He takes his clothing piece by piece and rubs it across the dirty stone. When he’s finished he’s just as filthy as he’d been that morning; hopefully it will be enough to disguise the fact that’s he’s been gone.

He lets himself think, for one more moment, of the ball, of Jester, of how it had felt to dance with her. Then he puts it aside. It’s a fantasy. It’s already gone. He curls up by the fireplace to sleep.

He wakes early the next morning when the other servants arrive, and gets the fire started for breakfast to be prepared. Unusually, he’s sent out to the main hall to scrub the floors, a task that usually waits until the students are in classes. The cook tells him that Ikithon had requested him for it specially, and he soon realizes why. As the students come through the hall on their way to breakfast, he listens to them gush about the ball last night. Most of them hadn’t attended, but the few older ones who did haven’t been shy with details. 

He focuses on his work and tries to look appropriately meager and down-trodden as they pass through. Astrid and Eodwulf walk by, carefully not looking at him. They’re talking about Jester, who’d apparently been the highlight of the ball for many. Not that he can blame them, for being amazed by her.

“She only danced with that one guy all night,” Astrid complains as she walks by. “Who was that anyway? And then he just runs off!”

“At least she talked to more people after he left,” says Eodwulf. “Although she seemed down about it the rest of the night.”

Caleb’s stomach lurches. He hates the thought that he’s made her sad. But what could he have done? Could he approach her now, before she leaves the city? What chance is there that she’ll want him though, as he really is?

He dwells on it while the students breakfast, and while he scrubs the cooking pots afterwards. Then he’s sent back to the dining hall, to wipe down the tables in there. He can hear some kind of commotion happening in the main hall, through the doors. When he wanders closer, he hears Jester’s voice.

He quickly checks the room behind him; no one is around. He kneels down and presses his eye to the keyhole. The older students, and quite a few of the instructors, are lined up in the hall. Ikithon himself is there at the front looking put out.

And there, standing before all of them, is Jester. She’s dressed as finely as the other times he’s seen her, and transcendently beautiful, but her eyes are red-rimmed as if she’d been crying. “Hello everyone!” she’s saying. “I’m trying to find someone I met at the ball last night. I think maybe he’s from here, since he could do magic? I’m pretty sure he was wearing a disguise, but I have this glove he left?” She pulls out the blue glove that Caleb had left in her hand. “So if this belongs to any of you… I had a really nice time last night, and I would love to see you again. If there’s some reason you had to leave, I’m sure we can figure it out. I’ve been thinking about you all night, and I don't want to leave this city without knowing who you are.”

The students look around at each other, at Jester. Then Eodwulf steps forward. “I remember you from the ball last night. I’d hoped to see you again too.” Jester passes him the glove, but his hand is too large to fit inside. Then Astrid steps forward; her hand is far too small. The rest of the assembled students and wizards try, with no success.

“I guess he’s not here,” Jester says, as she takes the glove back. “I don't know where else in the city to look…”

The minotaur standing behind her places a hand on her shoulder. “Jester, we need to return to Nicodranas. Your mother will worry if we’re not back on schedule.”

He’s going to lose her if he doesn’t act. Bren screws up his courage and opens the door, stepping out into the hall. 

“May I try?” he asks, as the room turns to look at him.

Ikithon begins to laugh, and the rest of the crowd follows. “As if anyone would believe you were there,” he says. “Look at yourself.”

But Jester steps forward, and passes him the glove. Their eyes meet, and her eyes widen in recognition, despite the change in his features. He pulls the glove onto his hand, and it fits perfectly.

“Caleb?” she asks, and he nods.

“I’m sorry I’m not… what you thought I was,” he says, gesturing at his clothes. “But I am who you met last night.” He pulls the other glove out from his pocket, and passes it to her.

“It is you!” she says, and throws her arms around his neck. He freezes for a second – how is this happening, he’ll get her dirty, he doesn't deserve this – but he can’t make himself pull away. He wraps his arms around her in turn. It’s a bit of an awkward hug – she’s at least six inches shorter than him – but he doesn’t want it to end.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he says.

She drops her arms, but keeps hold of his hands. “Well, I didn’t want to keep letting you get away.” 

“I suppose you have to leave for Nicodranas now though.” He can’t get his hopes up, can’t trust that this string of miracles won’t end any moment.

She looks thoughtful. “I do. But maybe you could come with me, if you want?”

Well, why not? There’s not much left for him here besides grief and drudgery. But before he can answer, there’s a cough from behind him.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Ikithon says. “Bren’s services are needed here. And I believe you’ll regret taking him with you in any case. He’s proven himself useless for anything beyond scrubbing floors.”

Caleb had depended on this man for so long, had stayed at his feet out of obligation and guilt, even through every humiliation. Until recently, he would have agreed that he was useless, but he knows that isn’t true. He’s been practicing magic, even without the school aiding him. He’s found Nott, and now Jester, who sees some value in him. And he has a purpose now. He has somewhere to go.

He steps forward. “Jester has helped me realize that I can do more than this, and that I don’t need to tolerate endless ill treatment. Thank you for what you’ve taught me, but it’s time for me to go.”

“Fine,” Ikithon spat. “Show your face in this city again, and I’ll have you executed like your traitor parents, you ungrateful brat.”

Well, that bridge is thoroughly burned. Caleb holds tight to Jester’s hand as they walk towards the door. He sees that she’s somehow carved a dick into the doorframe, and has to fight back a laugh even with the emotional turmoil within him.

“There’s one other thing,” he says, as they walk towards Jester’s carriage. “I have a friend here, who I don’t want to abandon. May I take you to meet her?” As strong as his new feelings for Jester seem to be, he can’t just leave Nott behind. (Or Frumpkin, but he has a feeling the cat will show up when he’s ready.) And if Jester dislikes or judges her, he’ll be disappointed, but better to know now that his impression of her character was wrong. He’s not sure where he’ll go if that happens, but he’ll make do. And at least he’s free from his stupor at the Academy.

“Of course!” Jester says. It takes some planning, and wandering around the city to the spots she’s told him she frequents, but eventually he gets in touch with Nott and they meet in an alley behind Jester’s inn. She and Jester get along immediately. Caleb is thrilled, but also just a bit terrified, with the direction their conversation starts to head. He’d had no idea either of them was so interested in explosives.

They tell the whole story to Nott. It takes a while - she and Jester get very excited, and Caleb keeps finding himself choking up at important points. But the result of it is that Nott agrees to come to Nicodranas with them. She’s ended up in Rexxentraum mostly by chance, and it’s a rough place for goblins, so her friends and the hope of an easier life are more than enough to pull her away.

Then there are all the preparations for a long journey to take care of. Jester buys him a few sets of clothes – his instinct is to refuse, but he has to admit there are advantages to not walking around covered in ash. A familiar orange cat appears, trailing after him and napping on Jester’s bags. He scratches its head in thanks whenever he gets a chance. At last, the carriages are packed and ready. He finds himself in Jester’s emptied guest room while Nott and Blude check over the last details downstairs. Jester pulls him out onto the balcony, which overlooks Rexxentraum and the plains beyond.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to say it yet,” she says, “and I know we’ve sort of just met each other, but last night felt really right, you know? Like something clicked into place when we started dancing together.”

“I know what you mean,” Caleb says, and realizes as he speaks that it’s true. “It felt like I was doing something right for the first time in a long time.” He reaches out tentatively to take her hand. She’s leaning against the railing of the balcony, and the sun is backlighting her hair, making her glow.

She leans forward, bringing her lips to his ear. “This is the part where you kiss me,” she stage-whispers.

And so he does. They hold each other for a long time, and Caleb thinks, with the part of him that can still think – the part that’s not just screaming Jester, Jester, Jester – that even if he’s still lost and worthless, there’s worth in this, there’s something here that’s right. He doesn’t want to let go.


End file.
